S. Watson - Second Life

She’s quiet for a moment; I imagine her shaking herself awake. ‘Sorry. What names are they?’

I read the first couple out. ‘Do any of them sound familiar? Did she mention any of them to you?’

‘No—’

I carry on reading. After a few more names she stops me. She’s wide awake now.

‘Wait. Did you say “Ourcq”? That’s not a username. It’s a Métro station.’

I know what she’s going to say.

‘It’s near where they found her body.’

‘So that’s what she was doing there? Meeting someone off this list?’

‘I don’t know,’ she says. But already I’m feeling a curious surge of energy. ‘But I guess it’s possible.’

I end the call. I look again at the list of usernames in her Filofax. It’s as if I’ve found a weak spot in the wall of my grief, something that might lead me first in and then through, on to the other side. To peace.

I wake my laptop. I type quickly: encountrz.com. I tell myself I just want to have a look. I can’t do any harm. I’m about to press enter when I hear a noise. A cough, then a voice.

‘Darling?’ It’s Hugh. ‘It’s half five in the morning. What on earth are you doing?’

I close the browser window and turn to face him. He’s wearing his gown, tied around his waist, and yawns as he rubs his eyes. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yes. I couldn’t sleep.’

‘Again? What’s wrong?’

‘I just keep thinking the police must’ve missed something.’

He sighs. I say the same thing to him every single day.

‘I think they’re being incredibly thorough.’ He comes over and sits next to me. I know he can see what’s on my screen.

‘If I hear anything new I always tell you straight away. You know that.’

‘Yes. But do you think they’re still investigating what happened?’

‘I’m sure they’re doing everything—’ he began, but I interrupted him.

‘I mean, really investigating it?’

He smiles. It’s his sad smile, full of compassion. His surgeon’s smile. I used to imagine him practising it in the mirror, determined not to be one of those doctors accused of having a poor bedside manner.

‘I’m sure they are. We’ve discussed it with them. They’ve interviewed all her friends, all the people she worked with. They’ve been through her phone records, they’ve taken the information off her computer. They’ve followed up every lead. But something like that? It can’t be easy. Random, unprovoked…’

‘You told them about the dating sites?’

‘Yes. I rang them as soon as you told me. But they already knew. Anna told them. They said Kate didn’t have a boyfriend…’

‘But they’re not just about dating. Anna implied she was using them for sex. Casual sex.’ He shakes his head but I go on. ‘You know. One-night stands. Anna says it wasn’t that often, but she did it. And she didn’t always tell her where she was going, or who she was meeting.’

A look of disapproval flashes on his face. I wonder for a moment whether he thinks she deserves what she got, and then instantly I dismiss the thought.

‘D’you think that’s who killed her?’

‘Who?’

‘Someone she went to meet. To have sex with, I mean. Or someone she was messaging, at least?’

‘I’m sure the police are looking into that—’

‘They haven’t told us they are.’

‘Look, we’ve been through all this, Julia. They’re looking into it. The truth is, I think she talked to a lot of people online but only met up with one or two.’

I hesitate. I need to push him; I’m almost certain he knows more than he’s telling me, that there might be a tiny fragment that’s been overlooked, a detail that will unlock the rest and make it all fit into place.

‘But—’

He interrupts me. ‘Julia, we’ve been through all this a thousand times. They’ve kept her laptop; they’re doing everything they can. But if she was doing that and keeping it secret then it would be almost impossible to find everyone she might have been in contact with. There might be sites she used that we don’t know about, any number of people she was talking to… What’s that?’

At first I don’t know what he means, but then I see that he’s looking at my screen.

‘It’s a photograph.’ He isn’t wearing his glasses and has to lean forward to get a better view. ‘It’s where Kate died.’

He puts his hand on my shoulder. It feels heavy, meant to reassure. ‘Are you sure it’s a good idea to look at that, darling?’

‘No,’ I say. I’m not desperate, but I’d like him to approve.

But why would he? He thinks the police are doing their best and that’s the end of it.

‘I’m not sure it’s a good idea at all, but what else am I supposed to do?’

‘Come back to bed?’

‘Soon…’

‘Come on.’ He squeezes my shoulder then gently closes the lid of my machine. ‘Come and get some rest. You’ll feel better. I promise. Doctor’s orders.’

I stand up. I won’t feel better, I want to say, I never do. He turns to go back upstairs.

‘I’ll be up in a minute,’ I say. ‘I’m just going to make myself a cup of tea. I might read for a bit. Until I feel sleepy.’

‘Okay,’ he says. He knows I have no intention of following him. ‘You haven’t forgotten we’ve got people coming for supper? Have you?’

‘No,’ I say, even though I had.

‘Maria and Paddy…’

Of course. We’ve known the Renoufs for years, ever since Maria joined Hugh’s department as a registrar. Hugh tipped her for success even then, said she was going places, was someone he mustn’t let go. I like them both, but this is the first time he’s invited them – invited anyone, in fact – since Kate died. I suppose he thought cooking would do me good. Maybe he’s right. Following a recipe. Chopping, weighing, measuring. I used to enjoy it, before Kate. I went on courses, I was proud of the fact that I’d gone from someone who knew nothing about cooking to someone who could make their own pasta.

But, now? Now, I don’t want to see anyone.

‘Can’t we cancel?’

He comes over. ‘Darling. It’ll do you good, I promise.’ He kisses the top of my head. It’s a tender kiss, warm. For a moment I want to climb inside him, have him protect me. ‘We’ll have fun. We always do. Maria will talk endlessly about work and Paddy will flirt with you, and then when they’ve gone we’ll laugh about it. I promise.’

He’s right. I know he is. I can’t keep running.

‘I’ll go shopping this morning,’ I say.

He goes back upstairs. I sit in the chair. I leave my machine closed. I don’t want to log on to encountrz. I’m afraid of what I might see.

I make tea, I sit with my book. An hour passes, two. Hugh comes downstairs, showered now, ready for work, then a little while later, Connor.

‘Hi, Mum,’ he says. He’s dressed, wearing his uniform, the grey jumper, the white shirt with a maroon tie. I watch as he gets himself a bowl of cereal, pours himself some juice. He’s looking older every day, I think.

‘Are you all right, darling?’ I say, and he replies, ‘Yep,’ with a friendly shrug, as if there’s no reason at all he might not be.

Maybe he really is fine, but I doubt it. He’s stopped crying now, but if anything that’s more worrying. The only time he ever talks about Kate’s death is to ask if there’s ‘any news’, by which he means, ‘Have they got them yet?’ I’d felt angry at first – it’s all he can focus on – but now I see that it’s the only prism through which he can process his grief. After all, he’s just turned fourteen. How else is he supposed to respond?

He sits down with his breakfast and I watch as he begins to eat.